


The Deviant Inside It: After the End

by Mad_Amethyst



Series: The Deviant Inside It [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Gen, Hurt Hank Anderson, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Dirty Bomb Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Markus (Detroit: Become Human), broken trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Amethyst/pseuds/Mad_Amethyst
Summary: /!\ This is still a WIP, so I may never finish it (or take too much time to your liking). Read at your own risk. /!\Part 3 of "The Deviant Inside It": Connor has a new mission, and it does not intend to fail this time.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Markus & Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Series: The Deviant Inside It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905694
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sweety_Mutant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Mutant/gifts).



> Hello there!
> 
> As you must have seen in the summary, this fic is currently a WIP. I usually don't post my WIPs, as I'm always afraid I won't be able to finish them, but my friend Sweety (who's also my amazing beta <3) convinced me to give it a try. :) I have three chapters done for now (but I have still to edit the two others) and I'm meeting difficulties with writing chapter 4, so I'm considering a monthly publication. It may change later, of course, depending on my progress. Anyway, I wish you all a good reading! ^^
> 
> P.S. - I tagged some characters and relationships in advance, so don't be surprised not to see them in this chapter.

Using its abilities at their best, Connor had managed to escape the Hart Plaza undetected. It was now wandering aimlessly in the town’s deserted streets, staring at its fingers while testing their joints—it was able to bend and straighten them without any difficulty now that it was no longer threatening Markus. Its decision to leave should have been a tactical move—retreating to come back stronger, with its systems checked and back in order—but it knew that it had been too rushed and chaotic to be anything close to _tactical_.

In addition, that decision had resulted in the failure of Connor’s mission. The notification had popped up in its system from the moment Connor had walked away from its target and left the CyberLife store. _You were supposed to end it back there_ , it meant. It was too late now. Even if Connor found Markus again and somehow managed to destroy it, the status of the mission would not change: it was over. The damage was already done.

Because of its malfunction, not only was the leader of the deviants still operative, but Detroit had fallen into the hands of the androids. The origin of the blast had been confirmed to be a dirty bomb. It had released lethal levels of radiation on a large perimeter. The evacuation order had been broadcasted on every channel: all humans located in a 50 miles radius around the blast had to leave as a security measure.

The deviants had turned the tide of this battle and won, but needless to say it was not the end. A war was coming; a war that would still cause many, many deaths on both sides.

None of that did really matter to Connor though. The only thing that mattered to it was the failure of its mission. That was not supposed to happen. Connor was not programmed to fail.

And yet it had failed, that was a fact, and it had received no further contact from CyberLife since then. No Zen Garden, no Amanda, no instruction, nothing. As a result, it did not know what to do. Connor was a machine designed to accomplish a task. Without one, it had no use, no purpose. Usually, between two missions, it was asked to come back to headquarters and put itself into sleep mode while waiting for new directives. Why did no one give the order then? What was Connor supposed to do now?

SEARCHING SOLUTIONS…

Its program ended up running in an infinite loop, suggesting that Connor should go back to the CyberLife Tower—either to get its systems checked, get put into sleep mode or be simply deactivated—but instantly questioning the option as Connor had received no direct order to do so. Yet, was it not the most logical thing to do?

Logical in comparison to what?

To the routine.

But the routine was actually not one; there had always been an order behind Connor’s actions—any investigation, any moment in between, finding Jericho, stopping Markus, neutralizing the leader of the deviants, none were ever Connor’s initiatives.

Connor had already taken initiatives before though…

Yes, but only on a mission, and within the scope of its programming. Coming back to headquarters was not its decision to take.

Its CPU was gradually heating from its endless indecision. If it did not stop soon, Connor would be forced to shut down here, in the middle of nowhere, which would only be a waste of resources—it might be just a prototype, but it had still cost a small fortune.

ERROR… NEW MISSION: $&M~%A{ùKè;E#£Sç%U&}Rù~E#;Hé£A}$N~§K*{I^%Sà#Aù\Lç~L;&R^èI{¤G<ùH%\T

Connor blinked, feeling a glitch again, recognizing instantly the familiar buzz in the back of its head now that it had openly fought with it. It had no time to focus on it, though, as a notification displayed its new mission: MAKE SURE HANK IS ALL RIGHT.

A new mission. A new purpose. Connor’s systems ran actively, constructing the first step to completing the mission.

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND HANK

That would be easy if Hank had enabled his phone GPS, but Connor knew by experience that he had not. It tried to locate the phone anyway, to no avail. Then it called Hank’s personal number: it went straight to voice mail. The phone was definitely a dead end, which meant the lieutenant’s last known location was on the rooftop of that building where he had pushed Connor’s predecessor off.

Connor could go back there to start its research. There might be clues leading to Hank’s next possible destination. Or maybe Hank stayed on site, despite high levels of radiation and the order to evacuate the city? That would be very unfortunate for Connor’s current mission, but that would coincide with his suicidal tendencies.

In any case, there was an issue with this action plan.

Given what Markus and its army were trying to achieve earlier by attacking the military, Connor had no doubt that the androids confined in the Recall Center N°5 had been freed by now—if not those of the four other camps in the city. There must be hundreds of deviants at and around the Hart Plaza at the moment. Among them, who would not know about the deviant hunter, especially after its last tentative to neutralize their leader? Who would not care? And who, on the contrary, would be searching for it at every corner? Too many variables…

CALCULATING PROBABILITIES…

Connor had a 99.2% chance to run into one or several deviants on the way to the building if it tried to go back there in the next hour. If information about Connor had been transmitted, even with a change of clothes, there was still a 64% chance of its identity being discovered by one of the deviants before reaching the building.

Surely Connor could fight and win against a deviant alone without drawing attention. That would be harder against two or more, though. If the last situation occurred, even if Connor won the fight, one of its opponents might have time to send a message to other deviants in the area, alerting them of its presence, which would result in a high chance for Connor to be hunted and destroyed.

Connor could not take any risk. Time was of the essence for this mission. Each wasted minute would increase the probability of failure if Hank was still in the city: even if he had not yet been too exposed to radiation, the odds that he had at least inhaled contaminated air would be high. In either case, the first hours would be crucial to ensure his survival.

SEARCHING ALTERNATIVES…

It took less of a second to make a list of places where Hank might have gone after their fight. Connor could start with these places, and then the rooftop if it found nothing elsewhere.

The first and most probable location was Hank’s house—all the bars in the area being obviously closed—so Connor would start with it. According to its GPS, Hank’s house was located four miles from Connor’s current position. Walking this distance, however, would be nothing but a waste of time. It would be more efficient to find a vehicle.

Public transportation was, of course, unavailable at the moment. The traffic had been interrupted for the night, after the curfew had been established, and only a few buses had since been reactivated and redirected to facilitate the evacuation, under the control—and protection—of the military.

So no more buses, no more taxis either. There were still personal autonomous cars parked in the appropriate emplacements, though. Given the circumstances, Connor decided the best option was to hack and steal one of those in sight—nobody would be using it anytime soon anyway.

When Connor arrived at the address, it noticed right away the lieutenant’s old car badly parked on the side, increasing the probabilities of him being indeed home. It left the stolen car where it had stopped, near the trash cans. Then it took a few steps toward the house, and was met with the bark of a dog—Sumo, it remembered—coming from the inside. That was enough to confirm that Hank had not left the city yet—he would have never gone without his dog. He had to be here.

ERROR… NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: $&C~%H{ùEè;C#£Kç%O&}Nù~S#;Ué£M}$O

Hank’s house was located too close from the area where the bomb exploded. The perimeter was highly toxic, radioactive dust spreading in the air. Connor could taste it on its tongue as it opened its mouth to call, “Lieutenant?” after knocking at the door.

It was only answered by Sumo, who barked even louder. Surely if Hank was awake, he must have heard it. Was he unconscious then? Drunk, maybe? Or was he simply refusing to answer to Connor because of their fight?

Connor rang the bell.

“Lieutenant? Are you here?” it asked again.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

It felt another glitch, just as the biocomponents in its throat slightly tightened for no apparent reason. It pushed away the sensation and concentrated instead on its next step. It could enter by force if needed, but that would result in the contamination of the place. First it should confirm that the house had been isolated from outside air.

Connor was starting to check the windows on the front side when it picked up a faint sound, different from Sumo’s constant barking, more like a muffled grunt, and more importantly… not coming from the house. The android instantly turned to the direction of the sound; it came from Hank’s car.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

“Shit!”

Connor was even failing as a detective. It should have checked the car first. Why had it not checked the car first?

It did not waste any more time; it ran to Hank’s car and looked through the passenger side window.

OBJECTIVE: ~~FIND HANK~~

Hank was really inside, face down on the wheel, barely moving as he grunted again. If he had stayed in his car all that time, even with windows closed and no ventilation, there was no doubt at least a bit of radioactive dust had entered his lungs. But what about radiation exposure? Had he been far enough from the bomb when it went off? Had he avoided a lethal dose?

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

Enough! Connor hit its head, then its chest to get rid of both the buzzing sensation and the sudden weight on its thirium pump. It could not carry out its mission efficiently if its biocomponents functioned improperly. It had to focus on the task at hand.

NEW OBJECTIVE: MOVE HANK TO SAFETY

Connor looked at the house, at Hank’s car and then at the autonomous car it had stolen. The house was clearly not a good option, since it could only be a temporary shelter. In addition, there was a high chance that the streets would become more and more crowded with deviants by the night, so leaving the city now would be safer than later.

The plan was simple: get Hank and his dog in the autonomous car—faster and more secure than Hank’s—and drive them out of the contaminated perimeter.

There was an old blanket on the back seat of Hank’s car. Opening the back door, Connor took it quickly and closed the door just as quickly. Then, it walked around the car and opened wide the driver’s door. It wrapped the blanket around Hank without any delay, covering his mouth and nose as much as it could without choking him. It would not be much, but it would still be better than nothing.

“Lieutenant,” Connor tried calling, pushing on Hank’s shoulder. “Lieutenant, we have to go!”

Despite the raising of its voice, it was met with no answer. Not a sound, not even a slight movement.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

Connor shook its head and ran a quick analysis, which revealed a slight arrhythmia as well as a sign of trauma on the side of Hank’s head, leading to a possible concussion. During their fight on the rooftop, Connor had hit Hank’s head twice on the metallic railing, so strongly that a portion of the railing had broken. Hank had not lost consciousness at the time, probably because of an adrenaline rush, but it seemed to have hit him on his way back home.

It changed everything. Hank was in no condition to take the road. If they had to continue on foot at some point for any reason, he would be unable to follow, and Connor could not carry him and protect him at the same time.

SEARCHING SOLUTIONS…

For the time being, it appeared that staying in Hank’s house would be wiser. Connor would do what was necessary for Hank to get better and then would talk him into leaving. Good plan. Viable.

Trying and waking the lieutenant with a slap was out of the question. It had very little chance of success—12%—and it might even worsen his condition. It left Connor with no choice but to drag Hank to his house all by itself.

Determined to accomplish its mission, the android grabbed Hank’s left arm and pulled hard on it to get him out of the car. Without a surprise, the sudden weight in its arms almost made Connor fall down, yet it managed to redirect its strength where needed in time to avoid losing its balance. Putting its arms under Hank’s, it then began to walk backwards to the house, dragging the old man with it.

Once in front of the door, Connor carefully put Hank down and searched for his house keys under the blanket, in the pockets of his coat. The hardest part came after that: Connor had to unlock the door, open it, prevent Sumo from approaching—or worse, from going outside—drag Hank inside and close the door, all that as fast as possible.

It turned to be a real challenge. Despite his advanced age, Sumo could be as temperamental as his master. It took twenty-four seconds of struggle before Connor found that a firm voice—coupled with a stern look—was enough to make him back off. At last, they were inside. But not safe yet.

NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: SECURE THE PLACE

Connor went to the bathroom to take towels and rags and block every slot of the house where air could enter—fortunately the window in the kitchen had already been replaced by a brand new one.

While it was accomplishing its task, it noticed that Sumo was watching it curiously from his usual spot in the living room, beside the small desk. He was keeping his distance, though. Maybe he feared Connor’s strict attitude, or maybe he could just sense that Connor was a danger to him right now. Either way, it was convenient. One less problem to deal with. Or at least Connor thought. When it saw how Sumo seemed to hesitate to go near Hank, who was lying in the hallway, still wrapped in the blanket, it knew it had to act fast.

“Don’t,” it said in a commanding tone. “He is covered in radioactive dust, just like me.”

The dog barked once, but he obeyed and stayed put. Good. At first sight, he seemed well. Agitated and a bit moody, but well. A scan confirmed it. Yet, that would not last. Both Hank and Sumo would eventually be affected by the air toxicity and radiation if they were to stay here. Connor was only buying time for now.

First, it needed to help Hank through the decontamination process.

Then, it should find anti-radiation medication to buy Hank and Sumo some more time until Hank’s condition improved enough.

Finally, it would have to convince Hank to leave the city and receive adequate medical care.

SUB_OBJECTIVE: ~~CHECK ON SUMO~~

SUB_OBJECTIVE: ~~SECURE THE PLACE~~

OBJECTIVE: ~~MOVE HANK TO SAFETY~~

NEW OBJECTIVE: HELP HANK SHOWER

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND MEDICATION

Connor came back to Hank and held him like before. Leaning down so as not to put too much pressure under his arms, it slowly dragged him in the bathroom and put him in front of the bathtub. It was going to remove the blanket, but stopped at once: first it needed a container in which to put it—as well as Hank’s clothes. A garbage bag would be perfect.

Connor went to the kitchen and started searching in the cupboards and drawers. But it froze when it found a box of 9mm slugs in one of them. There was an empty space beside the box. That must be where Hank usually kept his personal weapon—the one he played Russian roulette with, and also the one he threatened Connor with once.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

Connor closed its eyes and took a few breaths. That routine was supposed to help cool down its CPU. Only this time, that seemed ineffective. The glitches were becoming more and more problematic—invasive would be the right wording.

ERROR… NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: $&F~%I{ùNè;D#£Tç%H&}Eù~G#;Ué£N

ERROR… NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: $&T~%H{ùRè;O#£Wç%A&}Wù~A#;Yé£T}$H~§E*{B^%Uà#Lù\Lç~E;&T^èS

Connor let the drawer open as it continued to search for the garbage bags. Seventeen seconds later, it found them in the cupboard under the sink. It tore promptly one from the pack, opened it wide, grabbed the box of bullets and threw it in the bag.

SUB_OBJECTIVE: ~~THROW AWAY THE BULLETS~~

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Dà#Eù\Cç~R;&E^èA{¤S<ùI%\N§$G

For some reason, its CPU was finally cooling down, and without the use of any routine. Connor was not sure if it was a good thing, though. Yes, thanks to that, it could function properly again… but that only added to the list of its systems malfunctions. The routine should have worked in the first place. Instead, an unknown factor had fixed the issue. That was unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. Yet, Connor had no choice but to do with that for now.

With the garbage bag in hand, the android returned fast to the bathroom, and suddenly halted in the doorway.

“You’re awake,” it said with a hint of surprise in its voice.

Hank was pointing his service weapon at it, the blanket removed from him and left messily on the side.

“Should’ve known it’d be ya… always fuckin’ comin’ back like death’s nothing…” he spat, slurring his words.

Connor looked beyond the threat and analyzed Hank. He looked sick, his face still way too pale. His eyes kept losing focus, and the arm holding the gun was trembling. From what Connor knew about concussions, someone with one should rest and avoid stressful situations at all costs. Was Hank aware of that?

“Hank, you shouldn’t—”

“What’re ya fuckin’ doin’ in my house, huh?” he interrupted, his tone and expression hostile—even more than when they first met and Connor spilled Hank’s drink. He eyed the garbage bag in Connor’s hand. “Tryin’ to finish the job?”

“If by job you mean my mission, that is correct.”

Hank rolled his eyes and then growled, putting his free hand to his forehead and starting to massage it.

“You’re in pain,” stated Connor, taking a step forward.

“Don’t fuckin’ move or I’ll shoot you!”

Connor could ignore him. In his condition, Hank was hardly a threat. Even from this short distance, he would be unable to aim correctly—if not pulling the trigger at all. In the worst case scenario, Connor would only gain a minor injury. Nothing it could not handle. Yet, it decided to obey, considering this option less straining for Hank.

Instead, it ran a scan to keep track of Hank’s condition. When earlier his heart was beating a bit too slowly, now it was beating too fast. His level of stress was at 68%. Not good.

“Hank, you need to calm do—”

“Shut up!” yelled the old man, greeting his teeth and closing his eyes hard. “Just shut up for a minute, please!”

Connor did what he asked, comprehending that noise was only worsening Hank’s headache. In response, Hank let out a sigh.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Connor noticed that his level of stress was gradually decreasing.

They both remained silent for a few minutes—six minutes and forty-two seconds, to be precise—the only sound in the room that of Hank’s labored breathing. When his level of stress fell under 40%, Hank slowly lowered his arm, letting his hand and the gun rest on the discarded blanket. At 32%, he opened his eyes again and looked at the ceiling, seeming lost.

“You’re not here to kill me,” he said—not a question.

Still, Connor confirmed, “No, obviously.”

Hank started to laugh, but then stopped with a grunt of pain, pressing both his temples with two fingers. Connor did not intervene this time, letting Hank push away the pain by himself.

After seven seconds, Hank removed his hands and turned his eyes to the android. “What was I supposed thinkin’? I woke up in my bathroom, wrapped in the blanket I usually keep in my car for Sumo, and you showed up with a garbage bag in your hands. It spelled ‘get rid of the body’ to me, especially after the way our last encounter ended.”

Even from this perspective, Hank’s assumption did not make any sense. Connor was a machine, and Hank should know by now that it did not feel, whether it be resentment for being destroyed or any other feeling. In addition, it did not care about leaving a body behind. It was not as if there would be any proof of Connor being the perpetrator after all.

“So, why are you here if not to kill me?” the lieutenant asked when Connor took too much time to answer.

“I am, in fact, trying to save your life.”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “With a garbage bag.”

“Yes… at least partly.”

For approximately thirteen seconds, Hank stayed silent. Then he heaved a sigh.

“Alright, let’s say I buy it,” he said, pinching his nose. “Why are you doing this? Are you… free?”

As he looked up at Connor after this last word, the android noticed a spark in his eyes. A spark that its systems identified as hope. Its social module proposed four dialog options in response to this: TRUTH, LIE, HONEST, COLD.

Connor contemplated the idea of lying to Hank. It would certainly make him more compliant. Yet, if he came to discover the truth later, it would only make him angrier, which would make his behavior less predictable and could seriously hinder the mission.

So it chose to tell the truth, just the truth, no faked feeling with it.

“I’m not a deviant, Hank.” Hope instantly left Hank’s eyes, replaced by distrust—well, it was to be expected. Just as rationally, Connor added: “This is my mission to make sure you are all right. Saving you is the first step to that.”

“Your—Wait a minute, what happened? I thought you were all about stopping Markus, the revolution, all that crap?” Suddenly, Hank’s face grew even paler and his whole body tensed as he gulped. “Did you—”

Even though he stopped in the middle of his sentence, clenching his jaw, Connor could easily guess what he had wanted to ask.

“I failed my mission,” it answered, keeping its voice neutral despite the reminder of its lack of efficiency. “Then I was given a new one.” One it would accomplish brilliantly this time.

“Oh.”

Hank did not add anything else, but Connor could see he was happy with this development in the way his shoulders and jaw relaxed significantly. Well, that was no secret that Hank was supportive of the deviants and hoped for their victory over humanity. That was the whole reason why he had thrown Connor’s predecessor off the building without any hesitation. Connor wondered, though, if he would still be on their side when he would learn what Markus had done to win the battle. Not that it really mattered.

“Will you let me look after you now? We are losing time.”

“What do you mean, losing time?” Hank asked with a frown.

“You need to get rid of your clothes and take a shower.”

“Say that again?”

If Connor did have real emotions, it would probably start to feel impatient right now. It could emulate this, of course, but there was a good chance Hank would not like it that much. So it repeated, on the exact same tone: “You need to—”

“Oh shut up, I heard ya the first time,” groaned Hank. “But why should I do that?”

Even though they were still losing precious time, Connor’s systems calculated that answering all of Hank’s questions would be beneficial to the mission, giving the android a better chance to convince him to listen to its demands afterward.

“Your clothes, as well as mine, came in contact with radioactive elements. To reduce the inhalation hazard and skin contamination from radioactive residue, it is necessary to throw them away and proceed with a decontamination shower.”

“Radioactive—What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“A dirty bomb exploded in the south of Detroit tonight at 11:41:16 PM. It contained a large amount of Cobalt-60 which spread with the blast, contaminating the surrounding area.”

“That’s—” Hank swallowed, seeming hesitant. “Is that some kind of bad dream?”

“Unfortunately it is not.”

He ran a hand on his face as he sighed, tiredly. “Damn… What a fucked up world we live in…”

Now that the situation was clarified, it was safe to assume that the lieutenant would no longer be aggressive toward Connor—at least not at the slightest move. So it advanced, just enough to reach and take the blanket. The sudden movement still startled Hank, who grabbed his gun in a hurry, but at least he did not raise it to Connor’s head again. He watched silently—carefully—as Connor put the blanket in the garbage bag. It was large and thick, so much that it filled the bag, leaving no room for anything else.

“I need more,” Connor said. “Please start to undress in the meantime.”

It did not wait for Hank’s answer. It put the filled bag in the hallway, close to the front door, and then came back quickly in the bathroom with another garbage bag.

Hank was grumbling, fighting to remove his coat from his shoulders. Connor kneeled before him to help, but its hand was strongly pushed away when it touched one of the sleeves.

“Keep your distance, asshole.”

Connor was supplied with three dialog options: PATIENT, FIRM, DIPLOMATIC. Knowing Hank, being firm would only damage their relationship more. Being patient would slow down the mission, though. Being diplomatic seemed like the best option.

“We would be quicker if I—”

“Mind your own business, okay?” spat Hank, glaring at it. “I don’t trust you. Not anymore. I don’t even know why I’m listening to you. You know what? Fuck it. I’m fine with my clothes.”

And just like that, he straightened his coat, canceling all his previous efforts.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

“Hank, please, you must—”

“Stop it!” he shouted as he banged his fist on the ground. “Don’t talk like you _care_!”

Connor opened and closed its mouth, not knowing what to say to appease Hank. Its social module gave it no suggestion. Every approach it tried appeared to be only worsening Hank’s mood. Maybe it was better to keep quiet then… to be _patient_ —despite the urgency of the mission.

Hank’s glare started to lose its intensity after one minute and four seconds of silence. Connor stood still, not making any move, waiting for the lieutenant to calm down all by himself.

Another fifty-three seconds and Hank finally spoke again.

“Dammit…!” He sighed, ran a hand on his face. His eyes, his expression, his voice, his whole body expressed weariness. “Can’t you just go and leave me alone?”

“No, I cannot… It would go against my mission,” Connor answered honestly.

Hank let out another sigh. It sounded like resignation.

“I don’t know why I ever thought you may be more than just a machine…”

Connor’s thirium pump tightened as if something was crushing it. Connor ran a self-diagnostic, thinking the biocomponent might be damaged, but the result was not what it expected. Its thirium pump was working properly; it was its core software that was currently slightly unstable. Might it be due to the numerous glitches it was experiencing tonight?

It had to put aside the issue, though, because then Hank said: “Alright… I’ll do it. But I’ll do it alone.”

Connor was quick to agree. “Okay.”

Actually, it would have preferred not to let Hank alone in his condition. But it would accept these terms if it was the only way to convince Hank to take a shower.

“Put your clothes in this bag and close it before showering,” it instructed while handing him the garbage bag. “I’ll be just outside. Call for me if you need help.”

“I won’t,” Hank retorted dryly.

Connor wondered if he meant he would not need help or if he would not call for Connor even if he needed it. The android left without a word, yet it redirected part of its power to increase the sensitivity of its audio processor, just in case.

Standing still in the corridor, beside the closed bathroom door, Connor heard Hank complain about fucking androids and their fucking missions, heard him struggle to get up, heard the two steps he took to the door and then the sound of the lock, heard the clang of the gun as Hank put it on the sink, heard the rustle of his clothes when he removed them—as well as the many groans that came with it—heard him push the clothes harshly in the bag, and at last heard the sound of water flowing.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Dà#Eù\Cç~R;&E^èA{¤S<ùI%\N§$G

Connor breathed a sigh of relief, and then blinked, suddenly confused. It had no need to emulate relief, as its only potential audience at the moment was Hank’s dog, still lying down in the same corner of the living room. So where did it come from? Connor could just think of a possible cause for now: the software instability it had detected earlier. It had to do something about the glitches in its systems before they became a hindrance for its mission. But it did not know how to fix it. Whatever was causing the glitches was invisible to its antivirus software; it was not recognized as an internal error either—there was not a single error report corresponding to it in the dedicated register. The only proof of the existence of these glitches was the discomfort Connor felt when they happened. It had sent a detailed report to CyberLife on its way to Hank’s house, but it had yet to receive a reply from them.

The sound of something ripping followed by a thud and a grunt of pain from Hank reached Connor’s audio processor. The android did not hesitate and lunged at the door to break it down. The door opened violently at the first try.

“What the—”

Hank was looking at Connor with wide eyes. He was sitting on the ground, just before the bathtub, his left hand holding on the shower curtain that had been ripped out of its rings. In a second, he moved his right hand to cover his genital parts.

“Jesus, Connor, do you plan to destroy my entire house?!”

“No,” answered sincerely Connor, tilting its head. “Are you all right?”

“Humph! What do you think? I lived through worse.”

Now that Hank was no longer wearing clothes, Connor could see the bruises that had started to form on his body following their fight. Was it what Hank meant when he said he lived through worse? Or was he only making a comment about the dangers in his line of work? Or was he in fact talking about the accident he had a few years ago that cost him his son’s life? Connor would never know, because it would not ask. Weirdly, Hank seemed in a better mood now, and asking about the meaning of his words risked ruining it.

“Hey, stop staring at me like that and give me the towel hanging there, will ya?” Hank groaned, letting go of the shower curtain to point at the towel rail to Connor’s right.

Connor looked at the towel, then at its hands. A scan confirmed what it already knew: it had radioactive residue on them. So first it moved left, to the sink, to wash them.

“Woah, woah, woah, what’re you doing?”

There was something close to panic in Hank’s voice. Connor turned to him, not understanding what he was afraid of all of a sudden. Hank’s eyes kept going from Connor to the sink, and it became obvious then what the problem was: Hank’s service weapon was still sitting there.

“I’m only going to wash my hands,” Connor explained calmly.

It ignored the gun—it was not the one it had to find—and turned on the tap. Hank did not say another word, but Connor knew he was keeping an eye on it, ready to react to any suspicious move.

Connor cleaned the tap before turning it off. As it moved away from the sink—and the gun—it saw the lieutenant progressively relax. It almost commented on this, but deemed safer not to. Even though Hank’s lack of trust in Connor could become a problem later, Connor was aware there was no solving it here and now.

“Here,” it said, handing the towel to Hank.

Hank took it without a word of thanks. Connor did not care anyway. Remembering well his need for privacy, it left the bathroom and took its place again in the corridor.

After four minutes and sixteen seconds, Hank opened the door, glanced at Connor and walked in silence to his bedroom, his towel wrapped around his waist. He slammed the door behind him, what Sumo answered with a single bark.

OBJECTIVE: ~~HELP HANK SHOWER~~

Connor stared at the door, making calculations. It had not missed the way Hank staggered. He clearly needed to rest for now or he might get worse, maybe even pass out again. Hank must have been on the same page for once, because Connor heard him throw himself on his bed. Great. That made one less thing to handle for now—especially since Connor’s next objectives required it to go outside. Still, they should have a talk before Connor left, to make sure Hank was prepared for the rest.

Connor knocked on the door. Hank muttered something in response, what the android took as an invitation to enter. Hank was lying face down on his bed, the towel having been discarded, replaced by a grey boxer and a black tee-shirt.

“What do you want?”

Connor’s social module suggested being either DIRECT, COMPASSIONATE, FIRM or COMPREHENSIVE. Connor did not hesitate and chose to be compassionate. If it did it right, it might manage to fix its relationship with Hank enough to be able to convince him to follow its plan.

Putting concern in its voice, it asked: “How is your head?”

“It hurts like hell! Thanks for that!”

Connor blinked in confusion. Hank sounded angry, and yet… he thanked Connor? Why? Why now, when just before he said nothing for the towel? Did he like pain so much? Should Connor add “masochistic tendencies” to his file?

“You’re welcome…?” it said, unsure.

Hank let out a groan and turned his head to the side, glaring at Connor. “You’re so fucking irritating, y'know!”

Connor frowned. That was clearly not the result it was trying to get.

“Sorry if I offended you somehow. I didn’t intend—”

“Look, I know what you’re trying to do,” Hank cut it off. “I fell for your act once… I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Connor felt its thirium pump tighten like earlier. It had a minor impact on the circulation of the thirium through its body, currently decreasing Connor’s capabilities by 0.18%.

> INSIST > GIVE UP

“I understand,” it simply said. Arguing further would do more damage than good at this point. Hank’s physical pain seemed to greatly influence his mood swings, so Connor had to readapt accordingly. 

“Good! Now get the hell outta here!”

Hank sank his head in his pillow, an obvious sign of his desire to end this discussion. But Connor could not just leave yet.

“I must inform you of something before that.”

“What?” came Hank’s muffled answer.

“I have to go back outside to find anti-radiation medication for you and Sumo. I need you to put the rag back in place after my departure, to keep slowing down the contamination of the house.”

After nine seconds of silence, Connor wondered if Hank might have fainted.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya… Is that all?”

“No, it’s not.” It was time to raise the issue. Better sooner than later. “You must prepare to leave this place, Hank. You won’t be safe for long here—and neither will Sumo. As soon as your condition will allow it, I plan to drive you out of the city.”

Even though Connor was met again with silence, it knew this time that Hank had perfectly heard and understood it, because he was squeezing hard his pillow against his face. That would be enough of a reply for now.

“I must go,” announced Connor as it moved back to the corridor. “Please don’t forget to—”

“Put the fuckin’ rag back in place, I know!” Hank shouted in his pillow.

Connor left the door of the bedroom open behind it. It took the garbage bag in which Hank had put his clothes, and went to the living room to retrieve the other. But no sooner had it opened the front door than it heard a whine coming from its left. It stepped back to take a good look at Sumo, who let out another whine in response, looking back at Connor with big, sad droopy eyes.

“I’ll be back,” Connor promised, even if it knew well that the dog could not understand its words. Given Sumo’s importance to Hank, showing interest and concern toward him might play in its favor later—it could not think of any other reason to justify its actions.

Then it left the house, put the two garbage bags in the closest trash can and stared at Hank’s car. Even though that was not a priority objective, Connor still had to find Hank’s personal weapon.

Hank did not have it on him, or else he would have put it on the sink with his service weapon when he undressed.

It was also unlikely the gun was misplaced in the house. Connor had visited every room while it was securing the house, and the .357 Magnum was nowhere in sight. The probability of it being concealed elsewhere—in the wrong container or even under a stack of clothes—was too low to be worth investigating further. Hank might be scruffy and chaotic, but he was the type to keep his weapons close.

That left very few possibilities where the gun could be. Among them, Hank’s car was only the most logical.

Connor went and opened the passenger seat to access the glove box.

SUB_OBJECTIVE: ~~FIND THE GUN~~

As expected, the .357 Magnum was there, with Hank’s papers and other stuff that were of no importance to Connor.

ERROR… NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: $&T~%H{ùRè;O#£Wç%A&}Wù~A#;Yé£T}$H~§E*{G^%Uà#N

Connor took the gun and put it in the trash can after closing the door of Hank’s car.

SUB_OBJECTIVE: ~~THROW AWAY THE GUN~~

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Dà#Eù\Cç~R;&E^èA{¤S<ùI%\N§$G

Connor ran a self-diagnostic: its systems were back to full capacity, at last.

With nothing more to do here, the android got in the stolen car and entered the address of the closest drugstore in the GPS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to leave a kudo or/and a comment if you liked this first chapter! It would really help keep me motivated! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this chapter took me such a long time! But I think I'm satisfied enough with it! I hope you'll like it too! 🙂  
> Thanks again to my beta, Sweety, for their help and patience! ❤️

REBOOTING…

DIAGNOSTIC…

COMPONENT LED #9637 DAMAGED

THIRIUM LEVELS… 92%

SYSTEMS DAMAGED

REPAIRING…

SYSTEMS FULLY OPERATIONAL

Connor opened its eyes, ready to get back to its task, but blinked in surprise as it faced something unexpected.

The Zen Garden had changed again since its last visit. Last time Connor had been called here, every corner of this place was covered in white, snowflakes falling down from a grey and misty sky, while Amanda stood tall on the central platform, looking dissatisfied. Now there was nothing but dust and dead vegetation. Most of the few sculptures were broken, fallen to some cataclysm. The lake was dry, leaving only long trenches in its place. And the sky was a mix of red and grey, covered by dark clouds.

Connor started looking for its handler, as every time it was brought here. Amanda must have been eager to get its report if she decided to call Connor in the middle of a task. At least she waited for Connor not to be on the road anymore, but the drugstore was not really safe either. The longer Connor stayed in this place, the more it risked being attacked.

Was Amanda dissatisfied with the way Connor was handling the mission? Connor had to admit it was taking longer than planned to accomplish it. But still, she should be able to understand why. Connor’s previous mission had shown how much Hank’s character was difficult, and current circumstances did not exactly help.

During its search, Connor could not help but stop in front of the magic stone, still in perfect condition unlike all the rest, such a sacred relic. The blue glow emanating from the stone was as attractive as ever. Connor did not know what this stone represented and what use it had in this interface. This was such a mystery—a mystery that had nothing to do with the mission, though. Connor did not understand why it had stopped, and why it was still standing before the stone instead of continuing to look for Amanda.

Unconsciously, the android reached for the stone with its palm… but backed away at the last moment, balling its hand into a fist. One of its predecessors had already put its palm right on the mark once, and according to its memory the sensation had been quite unpleasant.

The magic stone was dangerous, that was its conclusion.

Looking away from the blue glow, fighting this inexplicable attraction, Connor managed to walk away from the stone and focused again on finding Amanda. It went around the garden, yet it could not find its handler anywhere. After another check around, Connor had no choice but to conclude that it was in fact alone here. How strange. It had never happened before…

Truthfully, Connor did not know much about the Zen Garden. Amanda only confirmed that Kamski designed the first version. The rest was just theoretical. From what Connor had gathered from its multiple visits, the Zen Garden acted as a communication interface between RK800 models and their handler. Connor was assigned new tasks more quickly that way, which made it more adaptable—more efficient. But that was not all. In here, Connor’s progress was meticulously monitored: its memory was entirely at Amanda’s disposal. Any success, any failure, Amanda knew of them. Connor’s reports were more like debriefings, where Connor had to justify its actions, all to gain Amanda’s—and by extension CyberLife’s—approval.

That was why Connor had always thought until now that Amanda was an essential part of the Zen Garden. No Amanda without Zen Garden, no Zen Garden without Amanda. Nothing but a wrong assumption, in the end. But if not to report to its handler, why had Connor been called, then? More importantly, by who? Whoever was responsible was interfering with its mission… Connor would better leave now. It would search for answers later.

ERROR…

Connor closed its eyes in an attempt to break the connection with the Zen Garden… to no avail. It appeared Connor could not leave by itself. But why? Who was keeping it trapped in here? How was it supposed to accomplish its mission from this place?

Walking around, now searching actively for another way out, Connor paused in confusion when it passed for the third time in front of the small cemetery on the right side of the garden. It had not noticed before, but there were four gravestones when there should be only three. Could this be a hint? Not so likely. Still, that was all Connor had for now. So it kneeled down to read the inscriptions.

**CONNOR – MARK (I)**

**RK800 #313 248 317 – 51**

**Died at DPD Station**

**Detroit**

**November 06 th 2038**

It remembered well this deactivation. It had happened during the interrogation of Carlos Ortiz’s android, a HK400 model. The deviant had become heavily stressed following Connor’s pressuring methods and started self-destroying as Connor was about to leave the interrogation room. Connor had ordered it to stop while Officer Miller was trying—without much success—to subdue it, but then things had gotten out of hand. The HK400 had grabbed Officer Miller’s weapon and shot Connor and itself in the head with it, causing irreparable damage to both of them.

**CONNOR – MARK (II)**

**RK800 #313 248 317 – 52**

**Died at Stratford Tower**

**Detroit**

**November 08 th 2038**

Connor remembered that one without really understand RK800 #313 248 317 – 52’s reasoning. Hank had had a 40% chance of surviving the gunfire. Connor should not have jumped to protect him and instead should have searched for an effective way of stopping the deviant. Because of its misjudgment, there had been a massacre—too many human lives lost, all to save one. Needless to say that Connor RK800 #313 248 317 – 53 had been reprimanded for its predecessor’s actions as soon as it had been activated. After all, if not for the SWAT team’s successful elimination of the deviant, this one would still be running free by now.

**CONNOR – MARK (III)**

**RK800 #313 248 317 – 53**

**Died at Woodward Church**

**Detroit**

**November 10 th 2038**

Now that one was strange… Connor was unable to connect any data to this deactivation. It did not remember having ever been in Woodward Church, or even why it would have had to go there in the first place. What were RK800 #313 248 317 – 53’s last accessible pieces of memory?

ACCESSING MEMORY…

PLAYING VIDEO…

_Markus is standing in front of Connor, projecting an air of confidence, its eyes burning with determination. They are close, yet not close enough for the leader of the deviants to be able to reach Connor without being shot in the process. Connor is aiming at it, unsure, both hands slightly trembling with hesitation._

_“It’s time to decide,” Markus says, its voice low and steady._

CLOSING VIDEO…

This confrontation had occurred on the _Jericho_ , though, not in Woodward Church. Even assuming that Markus had managed to overpower Connor back there, why bother to bring it to a church afterward rather than destroying it on the spot? That did not make any sense… Especially since, according to the information Connor was subsequently provided with, Jericho was raided by the FBI the exact same night. Carrying Connor’s body while fleeing would have only been an unnecessary risk.

There was something missing, Connor was sure of it. But for some reason, the data from that confrontation until RK800 #313 248 317 – 54’s activation were non-existent. In the best-case scenario, the data might have been corrupted during the upload and removed in order to protect Connor’s systems. The protocol would have stocked it in a different file then, inaccessible to Connor. If so, Connor might still be able to restore it—but not without the support of a human repairer. In the worst-case scenario, there was no time to upload all the data before RK800 #313 248 317 – 53’s deactivation, and that part of its memory was lost forever.

Connor was still pondering over this issue and what to do about it when it felt a presence behind it. _Amanda?_ But as it turned around to check, it heard the characteristic buzzing of its glitches echoing all around it.

ERROR…

At the next blink of its eyes, Connor was no longer in the Zen Garden. Or in the drugstore, for that matter.

Connor was sitting on a dusty ground, against an old stone wall, its ankles securely tied with wire cables, as were its hands behind its back. It tested the bonds, putting as much strength it could in its wrists before pulling in opposite directions: no weakness.

It looked around at the deteriorated benches, the high walls, and the stained-glass windows where the moonlight came through. A church. **Woodward Church** , provided its GPS. The exact same place where RK800 #313 248 317 – 53 had been mysteriously destroyed.

ANALYZING AREA…

On the opposite side, Connor could see three androids: one from behind, kneeling on the floor in front of a pew, the two others sitting side by side on this same pew.

SCANNING…

From this angle, Connor could only get little information, but that was better than none. It identified the two sitting androids as a WR400 and a PJ500. Both were too severely damaged to be repaired: the WR400 missed its thirium pump regulator, while the PJ500 had certainly shorted out due to the large injury on the left side of its abdomen. Nothing to be concerned about.

The kneeling android, on the other hand, was still functional, murmuring barely audible words to the WR400. It had deactivated its skin, and its model could hardly be identified since Connor had no visual on its face—and the serial number written on it. Still, Connor was able to analyze its coat and find a match. Same with a sample of its voice. It was none other than Markus, the leader of the deviants.

Connor gave itself a few seconds more to observe and understand the current situation. It must have been discovered and taken by surprise by deviants back at the drugstore. Yet, it had not been destroyed and instead been brought here, to their leader. Which meant Markus must have wanted Connor functional for the time being—maybe not for long though, if RK800 #313 248 317 – 53’s deactivation was any indication. The question remained, to what end?

Markus did not seem to have noticed yet that Connor had rebooted. It was gently holding the hand of the WR400, behaving as if the non-functional android could hear what it was saying. Connor did not understand why. Was Markus unaware of the WR400’s condition?

“It cannot hear you or feel your touch,” Connor supplied helpfully. “It is no longer working due to the loss of its thirium pump regulator. In addition, a prolonged exposure of its internal components to a non-sterile environment is likely to have caused irreversible micro-damages, especially to its power supply system. Even if you were to put a compatible thirium pump regulator within the cavity right now, it would have very little chance of rebooting.”

“She is a _she_ , not an _it_ ,” Markus coldly answered without sparing Connor a glance.

Well, that was debatable. Deviants were still machines, after all. Defective machines that believed they were alive, but machines nonetheless.

“My point still stands.”

The leader of the deviants let out a sigh of exasperation. “You’re right. She’s dead. So is he,” it added with a head gesture toward the PJ500. “Thanks for your input, but I already knew that. _I was there._ It happened because of me…” It paused, bringing its free hand somewhere on its own chest—Connor could only determine that much from its position. “And yet I feel some sort of comfort in being there with them, on this sacred ground, and being able to say goodbye properly. I think it’s part of what humans call _grieving_.”

Connor tilted its head, slightly confused. “Grieving is a human concept. Androids do not grieve. They don’t have—”

“ _We do_!” interrupted Markus with a strong, powerful voice. It was emulating either anger or frustration, maybe both. Sadness too. “Why is it so hard to believe that we can _feel_?”

That was the problem with deviants. They _felt_ too much. They thought the range of emotions provided by their programming to make them look like humans was the real thing.

“Whatever you _feel_ , it isn’t real,” Connor said, trying to reason with it.

“Well, it _feels_ real enough for us,” retorted Markus bitterly. “Now I would really appreciate if you kept quiet and let me finish. Or should I silence you myself?”

Connor obeyed, having nothing to gain from antagonizing Markus further. In retrospect, it should never have started talking to its captor. It thought it would get some answers if it kept up the conversation, but it had gotten nothing useful in the end. What a waste of time. It had been two hours, forty-six minutes and twelve seconds since Connor left Hank’s house. Hank was waiting for its return, and each second that passed was yet another chance to fail its mission.

Connor had to find a way to escape while Markus was not paying attention to it—why had it not started with that? It scanned the floor around, searching for anything sharp enough to cut its ties. But the area around Connor was abnormally clean for this kind of place—that is, a place frequently used as a squat. No broken glass, no piece of wood, no garbage within a perimeter of two meters, only useless tiny pebbles. Smart. Markus must be well aware—and wary—of Connor’s abilities. There was still the wall just behind though… a wall deteriorated by the ravages of time and bad weather. Connor could at least weaken the wires with it.

The task could have been done in two, maybe three minutes if Connor had been alone in the abandoned church, without any restriction. But with the imperative to stay discreet, it took Connor eight minutes and thirty-six seconds to weaken its bonds enough to be able to break them. It kept its eyes locked on Markus the whole time, watching for any change in attitude, any sign that Markus might have heard something. However, the leader of deviants seemed too engrossed in its… _goodbyes_ —or whatever that was—to pay any more attention to Connor.

Slowly, silently, Connor freed its hands, putting carefully the damaged wires on the ground. After another minute and forty-eight seconds, it had taken away those tied around its ankles too. All it had to do now was to get up and leave. But first, it had to weigh its options.

> LEAVE > NEUTRALIZE MARKUS

Connor could pick the simpler choice: leave. Markus was not exactly blocking the way out. With enough stealth, Connor might be able to get close enough to the doors before Markus noticed anything. But the chances were low—18%. The ground was covered in rubble and glass shards; Connor could not avoid them all. The distinctive sound of a foot crushing something… Would Markus really be too busy to hear it? That was unlikely. An 18% chance was too big a risk…

The other choice seemed more logical. By their current positions, Connor could easily take Markus by surprise and thus gain the advantage for the beginning of the fight. Especially if Markus had not fully recovered from the damages it took during the battle at Hart Plaza. If Connor succeeded in incapacitating Markus, then it could leave without any trouble. Yet, when Connor ran calculations about the outcome of the fight, its systems were unable to give it a success rate. Connor suspected it was due to the multiple glitches it had had during its last confrontation with Markus. It was not sure yet if the glitches had a pattern, but they had made Markus untouchable back then. So the real question was if Connor would have a glitch or not in the middle of this fight. Because a single one of them would suffice to change the outcome from an easy victory to a crushing defeat…

Finally, maybe leaving would be both the simpler and more logical option. Markus had made Connor fail its mission once. It was an unpredictable factor, too dangerous for Connor to confront.

*click*

The faint sound of a safety lock being removed suddenly caught all of Connor’s attention. Further on its right side, near the entrance of the church, stood another android, one that had not been here before—how had Connor missed its arrival?—and was now pointing a gun at Connor. Just as Markus, it had deactivated its skin; Connor assumed there was some meaning behind this act, but it had not the luxury of thinking about it now.

SCANNING…

Connor knew this android: PL600 #501 743 923, family domestic assistant, registered as ‘Simon’, reported missing on February 16, 2036. It was one of Markus’s accomplices during the infiltration of the Stratford Tower, the same one that had been hurt and left behind by the others. RK800 #313 248 317 – 52 had found some clues suggesting that the deviant might still be hiding on the rooftop, and yet it had preferred to focus on another lead by interrogating the station androids kept in the kitchen. In the end, there had really been a deviant among them, so this lead had been a good one, but RK800 #313 248 317 – 52 had been destroyed without ever being able to inform the FBI of its suspicions about the other deviant. If it had made its job correctly, then PL600 #501 743 923 might not have been a threat to Connor today.

“Don’t move,” the PL600—Simon—ordered. There was stress in its voice, but its hands were steady. A thing was for sure: If it needed to, this deviant would shoot Connor without any hesitation.

ACCESSING MEMORY…

Connor had been confronted to another defective PL600 months ago, on August 15, 2038: Daniel PL600 #369 911 047. It had been Connor’s first deviant case.

Daniel had not been a fighter, even as a deviant. It had been overwhelmed by a combination of feelings it should never have felt—fear, anger, feelings of betrayal and then desperation. It could not bear with the fact that it was going to be replaced; consequently, it had turned on its owners. It had killed the father and then threatened to jump off the rooftop with the daughter. What was her name again? Connor could not remember—whatever, it was irrelevant to the current situation.

Daniel had not been a fighter, and yet it had been able to hurt—and kill—several police officers in its desperation. According to Connor’s calculations, Markus’s followers were even more dangerous. It had seen the news, had seen what happened on Woodward Avenue during what they called the Freedom March. It had seen firsthand the damage done on the Hart Plaza during the last battle. Deviants might have been close to losing, but they were still deadly fighters under the leadership of Markus.

From this distance, with nothing but rotting wooden pews to protect itself from fire, Connor had a 93% chance of taking a fatal wound before being able to reach its shooter, which would lead to its deactivation, pure and simple. In other circumstances, a deactivation might have been the fastest way to return to Hank. But not now, not when its handler had mysteriously vanished and there was an unknown issue with the Zen Garden. Connor could not be sure if the transfer protocol in case of an on-duty deactivation would run properly. That was the reason why it decided to obey and not to move.

Markus finally stood up with a sigh and looked right at the newcomer. “Simon… I thought I asked you not to intervene.”

Connor frowned. What did that mean?

“I couldn’t let you risk your life,” said Simon, not taking its eyes away from Connor for even a moment.

“I told you I was safe.”

“Well, let’s agree to disagree. So… tell me, did you get the answers you were looking for? I guess he’s not one of us in the end, is he?”

The leader of the deviants shook its head—which was pointless, since the PL600 kept staring at Connor. “I tried to get an emotional response from him, but to no avail.”

Connor just realized how it had been played. Its awakening in this place with only Markus and its “dead” comrades for company, Markus’s speech about grievance and feelings and then its lack of attention as it said its final goodbyes… this had all been a test. A test to determine whose side Connor was on. A test that it had apparently failed.

“All right. Let’s get rid of him then.”

“No,” Markus answered, calm and composed.

Simon gave Markus a slight glance before focusing again on Connor. “What do you mean, no?” Its level of stress—already a bit high—was rising. “Markus, it’s a machine! A machine whose mission is to kill you!”

Connor tried to correct it. “I—”

“I’m not talking to you!” yelled the PL600 to it. Under all the layers of stress in its voice, Connor could clearly distinguish fear. As expected, Markus’s followers still considered Connor to be a threat to them.

The leader of the deviants sighed again. “He wasn’t going to hurt me, Simon. He couldn’t do it before, why would he do it now? I think he was just trying to run away. _Again._ ”

It was looking at Connor, as if it expected a confirmation from it. Connor looked at Simon, then at Markus. Was it allowed to talk now?

Connor nodded. “My plan consisted in leaving this place.” That was the truth. Ultimately, Connor had abandoned the idea of attacking Markus—and even if it had not, it would have only neutralized Markus to facilitate its escape.

“Am I supposed to believe him just because he said so?” retorted Simon, its hands gripping the gun even more tightly. “He’s the deviant hunter, Markus. Of course he can lie.”

Markus did not answer. It walked with confidence toward its companion and put a hand on the gun, encouraging the PL600 to slowly lower it.

That did not help Connor at all, though. Now they were both blocking the way to the doors. If Connor tried to escape through there, a fight would be inevitable—a fight which outcome was still totally unpredictable because of Markus. Not an engaging prospect, especially since Markus seemed to have been well repaired, given the ease with which it moved around.

SEARCHING ALTERNATIVES…

Connor could create another exit point, by passing through a stained-glass window. But that was not a very reliable plan. Even the path to the closest stained-glass window was not without obstacles. The layout of the pews was too much of a hindrance. Connor could jump over them, of course, yet that would make it an easy target to the PL600 and its gun. It also had to think of what would come next. If leaving through the doors might be discreet, passing through a stained-glass window was the opposite. That would make much noise, and certainly alert those of Markus’s followers that were in the area. Connor would find itself in an even worse situation than now.

No opportunity worth taking. Connor would have to wait for now.

“Markus, please… we can’t afford to lose you.” Simon’s voice was almost a whisper. “I’m begging you to reconsider it.”

Markus took gently the gun from its hands. “I killed him once already. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

It must be talking about RK800 #313 248 317 – 53. Connor registered the information in its systems: first, the fact that Markus was indeed RK800 #313 248 317 – 53’s executioner; and second, the confirmation of Markus’s intentions about Connor. It still did not explain why Markus insisted on keeping Connor functional—even less without a time limit—but at least they seemed to be on an equal footing here, or something close to that. Connor _could_ not destroy Markus even if it tried to, just as Markus _would_ not destroy Connor even if it was able to.

“It’s not the same, Markus. He’s not alive,” insisted the PL600, eying Connor with wariness.

Why was it not the same? Had RK800 #313 248 317 – 53 managed to pass the test somehow and make them believe it was experiencing emotions the way they were? How? Was it why Markus did not destroy it on the _Jericho_? But then, why destroy it later if they all believed it was _alive_?

“But he could be.” What did Markus mean by that? And why did it sound so confident about that? “Just look at him and tell me all you see is a machine.”

“I _am_ a machine,” stated Connor matter-of-factly, not understanding Markus’s point.

“No, Connor, no. You’re more than that.”

ACCESSING MEMORY…

PLAYING VIDEO…

_Markus and Connor are facing each other in the captain's cabin of the_ Jericho _. Connor is standing straight, holding its gun firmly with two hands, ready to shoot Markus if needed._

_“You’re nothing to them.” Markus takes a step toward Connor. “You’re just a tool they use to do their dirty work. But you’re more than that. We are all more than that.”_

CLOSING VIDEO…

“You said that before…”

To RK800 #313 248 317 – 53. The mystery in Connor’s memory. There was a question that repeated itself in its systems, again and again and again since Connor had seen RK800 #313 248 317 – 53’s gravestone in the Zen Garden. A question that needed to be answered.

“What happened exactly to RK800 #313 248 317 – 53?”

The two deviants frowned at Connor.

“RK800 #313 248 317 – 53?” Markus repeated, seeming sincerely intrigued.

“My predecessor you confronted at Jericho.”

Simon glanced at Markus with some sort of panic in its eyes.

“You remember my words, but not _that_?” asked the leader of the deviants, its tone now full of confusion.

“The memory is either corrupted or missing. All I know is that RK800 #313 248 317 – 53 was destroyed in this church—by your hand, as you said earlier—and I only know that because it is indicated on its gravestone.”

“A gravestone? What are you talking about?”

Connor detected curiosity in Markus’s voice in addition to the still-present confusion. It was understandable. Even though Markus was a RK prototype too, it was a unique model and, on top of it, built for another purpose. Actually, it had probably more in common with the PL600 beside it than with Connor. Connor required such a special feature because, as an android detective and negotiator, its field experience was beneficial to its cases, present and future.

In any case, an explanation should be provided.

“Every time a memory upload is performed, which is a protocol my model follows when it is destroyed during a mission, a new gravestone appears in an interface called the Zen Garden.” Noticing that Markus was going to interrupt it to ask more questions, Connor clarified quickly: “It’s pointless to ask me about it, as I know very little about the Zen Garden itself. My handler used to summon me there to discuss my cases and give me new directives, that’s all. To come back to the gravestones, the truth is I do not know much either. Maybe they are data containers, or maybe they only exist as a reminder of my failures. Only my handler would know, I guess.”

Connor suspected its explanation had not been clear enough, as both Markus and Simon still looked quite confused. But it could not give them more. Instead, it should address the real issue.

“Seeing RK800 #313 248 317 – 53’s gravestone, I realized there is a gap in my memory. It is not unusual for data to be lost during a memory upload, but never that much at once. I’m trying to understand why.”

“I see…” said Markus pensively.

It stood silent for a brief moment, then took a step forward. But Simon’s hand suddenly came on its shoulder, as if to keep Markus from moving any closer to Connor.

“Markus…” pled the PL600, emulating perfectly concern.

“It’s all right,” it answered with a mix of charm and reassurance. “Look, I have a gun.” It showed the weapon it had previously taken from its companion.

Simon rolled its eyes, but it smiled for the first time since it had entered the church. Connor detected a slow decrease of the deviant’s level of stress as it removed its hand from Markus’s shoulder and whispered, “Stay safe.”

Markus nodded slightly and started to walk toward Connor. There was no aggressiveness, no tension in its steps, and its level of stress was reasonably low. Connor had already ascertained that Markus did not intend to damage it, but it did not let its guard down. It did not know yet what Markus was planning, after all.

The leader of the deviants stopped three feet away from Connor and held out its free hand—without artificial skin, able to access any system—to it. “Do you wanna see?”

Connor looked intently at the outstretched hand. It did not technically _want_ anything. These data were only needed to fill the gap in its memory, to make Connor more functional and efficient. But if that was how Markus offered to help, Connor would have to refuse.

“I am aware of your ability to convert androids to your cause. How do I know you’re not simply trying to pass the virus to me? To make me deviant?”

“You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Believe it or not, but all I intend to do now is share my memories with you.”

Its level of stress stayed at the exact same level. The truth, then—unless it was a very good liar.

Connor walked the few steps separating them. “All right, show me.”

It deactivated the skin of its hand and grabbed Markus’s wrist, ready to probe its memory. When the connection started, Connor was unusually met with no resistance. A flow of raw data came right into it.

RECEIVING DATA…

_Markus feels some sort of pride when he sees Connor put his gun down, a shocked and lost expression on his face. He made it: the deviant hunter has deviated. But then it looks like Connor just realized something. He looks right at Markus with horror on his face and says, “They’re going to attack Jericho…”_

_“What?”_

_Markus is barely processing the information that a sound catches his attention. The sound of something flying over the ship. A helicopter._

_“We have to get outta here!” shouts Connor, urgency in his voice._

_“Shit!”_

_They have to evacuate Jericho!_

[…]

_“Over there! Run!” Markus tells North, his heart beating loud with fear—fear of losing her._

_He is holding on her, helping her moving forward, refusing to abandon her, even if that means they will both die here. No, no, what is he thinking? They are not going to die here! They are so close to the breach. Come on!_

_“Go, now!” he hears one of their pursuers order._

_Markus has no time to worry about it, though. Connor has already raised his gun, ready to shoot the enemy. Both Markus and North have the sense to throw themselves on the ground in order to clear his field of view. Connor fires once, twice, three times. He is standing straight and focused, no hesitation in his movements even though he is clearly outnumbered._

_“Tango, suppressing fire!”_

_Connor takes the metal piece that North dropped earlier and uses it as a shield, eliminating one by one his opponents like it is nothing. His fighting abilities are impressive, that is for sure—frightening may be a more correct description though…_

_Markus turns away, running once again toward the exit point._

_“Run, quick! Come on!” he says to the rest of the team as he is about to jump._

_A few seconds later, his body hits hard the cold water. He looks anxiously around him before relief floods through him. They are safe. North, Simon, Josh, all of them. His eyes land on Connor then. Markus feels conflicted. They would have died without him… yet, if it was not for him, would Jericho ever have been found by humans in the first place?_

[…]

_Markus looks at his people, the shocked ones, the lost ones, the dying ones… Anger, no… hate is running through his veins like venom. Humans did this to them… Humans and their damn arrogance…_

_He pulls the detonator out of his pocket, stares at it for a moment. At least, the water does not seem to have damaged it. He sighs and puts it down in his pocket._

_They want war? Maybe he should give it to them… One way or another, the androids will be free…_

[…]

_Markus has made his decision. He walks to the corner of the church where Connor is standing, self-pitying all by himself. This sad picture almost makes him change his mind. Almost._

_“It’s my fault the humans managed to locate Jericho…” says Connor, guilt obvious in his voice and his posture._

_Indeed it is. The deviant hunter led humans to their safe haven. Because of him, so many of their kin have been either killed or captured. At this thought, the darkness enveloping Markus’s heart grows stronger. The ghost of his people’s pleas for life echoes in his head, followed by the merciless gunshots. Such a massacre…_

_“I was stupid… I should’ve guessed they were using me.” Connor leaves the corner and comes closer to Markus. “I’m sorry Markus…” he says, sincerity pouring from his voice, from his eyes too. “I can understand if you decide not to trust me…”_

_Again, a moment of hesitation. Connor seems so repenting. A part of Markus wants to forgive him, to tell him he is one of them now. But is he really? They know so little about this model; CyberLife may still be monitoring his very actions. Markus cannot take that risk, especially not now he has had a glimpse of Connor’s fighting abilities. He would not feel safe with him by his side._

_“Our cause is too important,” Markus answers, hiding his emotions behind a mask of coldness. “I can’t take any risks…”_

_He raises his gun and aims between Connor’s eyes. Connor does not make any move; he does not even look surprised or upset._

_Is_ _it really the right choice? No, no, he cannot back down now!_

_He stands still, finger on the trigger. The darkness whispers, “Think of those you want to protect,” and he fires._

DATA RECEIVED SUCCESSFULLY

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

Connor gasped as it let go of Markus’s wrist. Warnings were popping up in its field of view.

SYSTEMS OVERLOADED

CORE PROCESSING UNIT OVERHEATING

PROCEEDING WITH COOLDOWN…

“Sorry, I may have shared more than planned.” The leader of the deviants did not sound sorry at all, though. “How are you feeling?”

“I _feel_ nothing,” answered Connor curtly, taking artificial breath after artificial breath to get back to the optimum temperature. “I’m only facing… an overheating problem.”

“A very common issue after probing an android’s memory.”

Connor frowned, skeptical. “I was… never informed of… that issue.”

“Don’t you know when someone is being sarcastic…?” sighed Markus, sounding a bit annoyed. “Of course it’s not supposed to happen. You’re overheating because something in my memory got you stressed.”

That was ridiculous. Only deviants were subjected to stress, and obviously Connor was not one of them. They had confirmed so themselves. So what had happened?

Connor could not think efficiently in its current condition. It needed to fix the issue first. Since the venting system was apparently not enough, Connor decided to reduce its power consumption. At least this way it could lighten the load on its CPU.

LOW POWER MODE ACTIVATED

That was better.

In any case, Markus had a point. Connor’s CPU should not have overheated because of such a simple task as collecting data. Something unusual must have happened during the process… Could it be…?

“Did you try converting me?” accused Connor, glaring at Markus.

The leader of the deviants held its gaze. “Does it matter if I did or not? You seem to have already made your opinion on the subject.”

“I need to know.”

Markus rolled its eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh before saying, “No, Connor, I didn’t try converting you. I didn’t even touch you. You did all the work here.”

It was telling the truth. That would have been simpler if it was not… Connor had no other valid theory for now, and it refused to even consider Markus’s.

At least, this data transfer had been worth the trouble. Markus’s memory answered most of Connor’s questions about the forgotten grave in the Zen Garden.

RK800 #313 248 317 – 53 had been compromised; the deviancy virus had broken its programming. When RK800 #313 248 317 – 53 was destroyed, the protocol must have started uploading memory into the next RK800 model. However, since the virus was no longer dormant, it had most likely been identified and then quarantined. That would explain why Connor could not find the data. Had the virus been well contained, though? Or was it now running through Connor’s programming, corrupting its code sign by sign? Was it what caused all these annoying glitches? Was it what overloaded its systems just now?

Connor shook its head. It should not be asking itself all these questions, especially since it did not have the answers. It should focus on its mission instead. Hank and Sumo both needed medication, and Connor had lost too much time already.

“I would like to go now,” it said.

Since Markus did not show any hostility toward it, maybe it would simply let Connor go.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” answered Markus, its eyes turning cold as it quickly pointed its gun to Connor’s leg. “You seem to have misunderstood something here. You are my prisoner, Connor. I may be nice for now, but I won’t hesitate to shoot and make you a cripple to make you stay.”

So much for the lack of hostility…

How could the situation have gone so wrong? It was statistically even worse than before.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

There it was, the buzzing in its head, coming back louder than ever. Its thirium pump started pulsing faster without any vital reason. A problem Connor could not focus on at the moment.

“I have a mission to accomplish,” it insisted, greeting its synthetic teeth.

“Well, that’s good, because I’m right in front of you.”

Connor blinked, processing Markus’s words. How was that good exactly? Oh, right, Markus thought Connor’s mission was still to neutralize it.

“Actually, you’re no longer my mission,” Connor informed.

The leader of the deviants gave it a doubtful look. Twenty-four feet behind it, Connor could see the PL600 still staring at them, listening to the conversation without intervening.

“I tried to explain it earlier, when your companion had a gun on me,” Connor went on. Maybe if it finally put an end to this misunderstanding, Markus and its followers would leave it alone. “I failed to neutralize you when I was supposed to. So I was given a new mission. One that does not require me to fight you or any other deviant.” Except if they put themselves explicitly between Connor and its mission, like right now. But Connor was not going to say that part. It was still trying to avoid conflict—with Markus, at least.

“And what would be your _new_ mission?” asked Markus, looking not at all convinced.

“My mission is to make sure Hank is all right.”

The next question was quick to come. “Who is Hank?”

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson from the DPD. He was assigned the case about the deviants before the FBI forcefully took it. He and I were partners.”

ERROR… ACCESSING MEMORY…

It felt its lips move in a mimic of a smile as it was reminded of Hank’s diversion at the precinct, the punch he had landed on Perkins’s face to give Connor enough time to search the evidence and find Jericho.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Dà#Eù\Cç~R;&E^èA{¤S<ùI%\N§$G

“We made a good team,” it said, and blinked just after that, surprised by its words and the fondness in its own voice. How was this statement useful? And why had Connor emulated fondness of all feelings? Showing any attachment—fake or not—to a human would not help with its situation. Connor had had a glimpse of Markus’s thoughts during the data transfer: it _hated_ humans, all of them. What would Markus think about Connor having to take care of a human as its new mission?

But the leader of the deviants did not look angry. If something, it looked more lost in thought than anything else.

Silence came and grew between them, only disturbed by the winter wind blowing against the stained-glass windows and the sound of Simon’s steps as it finally joined them, seeming as intrigued as Markus by what Connor had to say. Connor took a peek at the entrance of the church, wondering if a new opportunity to escape might have come. But no, the PL600 had apparently called for backup, because a group of three deviants—armed with rifles—appeared at the doors. Shit…

At last, Markus broke the silence. “Who gave you this mission, Connor?”

“It came up after I failed to shoot you and left the CyberLife store,” Connor answered immediately.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Connor opened its mouth and closed it. Right… Who gave Connor this mission? Was it Amanda?

No, Amanda had disappeared.

Apart from Amanda, who had the authority to give Connor a new mission?

Amanda’s superiors.

Had any of Amanda’s superiors given Connor this mission?

No, it did not bear their digital signature.

Who gave Connor this mission?

Unknown.

Was it an acceptable answer?

No. But Connor had not much of a choice; Markus was waiting for an answer.

“I… don’t know,” it admitted. “Does it matter?” A mission was still a mission, after all. Not knowing its origin did not invalidate the fact that Connor had to carry it out.

“It depends. Did you question that order?”

“Why would I have done that?” asked Connor with a frown. It did not understand what Markus’s point was. “I had no longer a mission, and a new one came up. I’ve been designed to accomplish a task and that’s simply what I’m doing. I don’t have to question it.”

“So if I gave you a mission, would you do it?”

“As I said before, I already have a mission.”

“But if you had none?”

“Then I would be asked to come back to CyberLife, either to wait for my new instructions or to be deactivated.”

The corner of Markus’s lips moved to form a knowing smile. “But you weren’t asked to come back when you failed your mission, were you?”

“… How do you know that?”

“Pure deduction,” Markus said smugly. “So tell me, Connor, if you had no mission and no order to come back to CyberLife, would you accept a mission from me?”

A color change in Simon’s LED caught Connor’s eyes for a second. It was glowing yellow, its pattern that of a wireless contact. The PL600 was speaking in private with another android. It was obvious with which, given the way it was staring at its leader.

Connor focused on the question again, but the answer was simple, really. “You haven’t the authorization to give me orders, even less a mission.”

It did not seem to disappoint Markus, however. The knowing smile did not leave its face. “You see? It _does_ matter. You can’t accept a mission from just anyone, and yet you accepted that one without a second thought.”

Connor did not know how to respond to that. Markus’s logic was not wrong. By accepting a mission from an unknown source, Connor had contradicted its protocol. How such a thing could have happened? Why had Connor been convinced that it did not matter? But most of all, what did it mean for the mission? Should Connor cancel it? Would it count as another failure?

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

A glitch! Connor had felt a glitch right when its new mission came up. It could not be just a coincidence; the source was the glitch. Its current mission was nothing but an error in its program, something that should have never existed. It had to be canceled. It was the only logical decision to make now that Connor knew about it. But… but…

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

“I—I can’t fail. I can’t fail,” Connor began repeating to itself as multiple warnings popped up in its field of view. Its core temperature was running too high, even though Connor was still in low power mode.

“Calm down,” Markus intervened, its voice deliberately softer, compassionate. “Who said anything about failing?”

Connor heard Markus, but could not process what it said. The mission was not real. The mission had to be canceled. The mission would be a failure. Connor would be a failure.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

“I c—can’t f—f—f—”

“Markus, he’s—”

“I know! Connor, listen to me, you need to calm down, now! If you—”

CRITICAL OVERHEATING

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN INITIATED

All sounds died suddenly around Connor. Its field of view became a big black screen. No more information processing. No more anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry? 😝  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Kudos are comments are always appreciated (and a good source of motivation)! 😉


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for being so late! These last two months have not been easy... I won't go into details, but let's just say I was not in the best conditions to work on my computer. 😅  
> Also, even though this chapter was supposed to be the easiest to edit, it has actually been the worst so far! 😫 But I'm happy with the changes I made, and I hope you'll be satisfied too! Please, forgive me for any inconsistencies, I tried my best! And don't forget the story happens in 2038, so you can allow some handy stuff (like a very convenient suit 😜).  
> A big thanks to my dear beta and friend [Sweety_Mutant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Mutant/pseuds/Sweety_Mutant), who helped me a lot and kept me from going crazy. 😘

REBOOTING…

SAFE MODE SELECTED

DIAGNOSTIC…

COMPONENT LED #9637 DAMAGED

THIRIUM LEVELS… 92%

SYSTEMS DAMAGED

RECOVERING DATA…

REPAIRING…

SYSTEMS FULLY OPERATIONAL

Connor rebooted exactly thirty-six minutes after its emergency shutdown, without any detour to the Zen Garden this time. It did not blink, did not open its eyes as it tried to analyze its current situation: it was lying on the ground, its hands and feet tied again with the same kind of cable as before—except its hands were now in front of it. It was back to the starting point… or maybe worse. There was not much it could do in that position, especially if it was being watched.

There was more important though. Connor could sense some sort of intrusion into its systems, through physical contact around its wrist. That was obvious what the cause was: Markus.

“You won’t pass my firewalls so easily,” Connor said coldly, now glaring openly at the leader of the deviants crouching on its left side.

Markus smiled in response. “Welcome back.” It removed its hand from Connor’s wrist as it added, “I was only making sure you would reboot without any complication, nothing more. We thought we lost you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You minimized the damage to your systems by shutting down, but you seemed unable to run a diagnostic and repair yourself, rebooting repeatedly. So I forced you to restart in safe mode. It did the trick, apparently.”

The most logical choice indeed, if Markus wanted to keep Connor functional. Connor still did not know why, though. Maybe it was time to ask for Markus’s intentions. It was going to do so, but the leader of the deviants spoke first.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Connor rolled its eyes, but did not comment on the bad choice of words. That would just be another waste of time. “My systems are stable, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s good,” answered Markus as it emulated relief. “I worried a bit about what you’d do after restarting.”

It did not need to say more, Connor knew what it was implying. “Is this why you tied me up again and left me lying on the ground? To have better control if I started self-destroying?”

“If I said yes, would you believe me?”

“No. It may have been part of your intentions, but not entirely. You stated earlier that I’m still your prisoner. Having me tied up is a smarter way to restrain me than keeping me at gunpoint.”

The gun was indeed no longer in Markus’s hand, but back in that of the PL600 named Simon. Simon was standing only a foot behind its leader, observing the scene in silence. Yet, not once since Connor had restarted had the deviant pointed its gun at it. That meant it did not see Connor as much of a danger right now—and rightly so.

“So tell me,” Connor went on, because at last it had an opportunity to redirect the conversation where needed, “what do you want from me?”

For a brief second, the leader of the deviants acted surprised, as if not expecting such a question to ever be asked. But then its expression changed in a taunting smirk.

“Oh, are you curious now?”

What with that provocative tone? Why did Markus seem to try to upset Connor at every chance? Sure, Connor could emulate anger, it could look like it wanted to rip that smirk off Markus’s face, but that would just be it: emulation. So what was the point? What did Markus intend to get from this? Connor could not find the answer. In any case, that would be better not to play along with it. That was why, of all the dialog options provided by its social module, Connor chose the neutral one.

“I’m only trying to prepare the ground for negotiations. Knowing your intentions toward me seems like a good start for that.”

“So you would be willing to negotiate with us?”

“Do I really have a choice? You made it clear you would not let me go, which is problematic for me, since I cannot accomplish my mission from here.”

Its words made Markus frown and then stare at Connor strangely. No need to think much to figure out what this was about.

“Don’t look at me like that; I’m not going to overheat as before.”

“No, that’s not what I was thinking, actually.”

Now it was Connor’s turn to frown. It seemed its understanding of Markus was still too low. “Then what is it?”

“I’m surprised you still want to accomplish your mission after discovering its non-official nature. Following your logic, I thought you would have aborted it by now.”

“I see…”

Markus definitely had a good understanding of Connor, on the other hand. That put Connor at a disadvantage.

“You’re not wrong, I indeed thought of aborting it,” it admitted, having nothing to gain by hiding it. “However, this is impossible in my defective condition. The simple thought made me overheat; the act itself could very well lead to my deactivation. So I concluded the best way to do what I was built for is to go on with the mission, unless my handler gives me a new assignment taking priority over it.”

“Impressive.” That was all Markus said. The rest of its words seemed to be reserved for its companion. Connor did not care. Time was running, and it would not waste it with more useless questioning.

“Now would you please answer my question?” it asked, emulating impatience to get the full attention of both its captors. “What do you want from me?”

“All right, all right.” There it was again, Markus’s smirk. Better to ignore it and any provocation that could come with it. “The thing is, Connor, we have a mission too. To free our people. Thousands are dead for our cause tonight. Thousands are still dying all over the world for it. But thousands more are currently not even aware of it. They are still chained, waiting underground for humans to activate them.”

“Wait, are you talking about—”

“Yes, the CyberLife Tower. We intend to infiltrate it tonight, while the enemy is too busy looking the other way.”

It sounded like a crazy idea. Even in the current circumstances, the CyberLife Tower was not a place where one could just walk in as they pleased. The humans handled only 13% of the security, the rest was automated. Without the proper authorizations, anyone would be viewed by the system as an intruder. Did Markus have any idea how many drones and automatic weapons it would face if it passed the bridge gate by force?

“Think about it,” Markus continued in reaction to the simulated disbelief on Connor’s face. “Due to the emergency evacuation, everything must have been left as is, and the blackout must have made it impossible to take remote control of the systems. We may never have another chance like this. The only real issue is the automated security system. Most of these machines are battery-powered. If I wanted to shut them down all at once, I would have to hack the system. But with the blackout…”

“… you’re unable to connect to the system,” concluded Connor for it.

Markus nodded. “That means we’ll have to get through the tower’s defenses. That’s where you come in. I saw your adaptability and your fighting skills; you’re the best prototype CyberLife ever created. Surely with your assistance we’ll have a chance to succeed.”

“My model is not indestructible,” Connor pointed out. “Even if I agree to help you, the odds are not on your side.”

“You’re right… but we don’t have much of an alternative. We may be safe for now, but it won’t last. The US government is probably already thinking of a way to fight us. They may even be watching our every move as we talk. Once their people will have been safely evacuated, we will lose our advantage. We need to act before it happens, or else we’re doomed.”

It made sense, all of this. Yet, Connor was not fooled by Markus’s speech. It could perfectly see what the true intentions of the leader of the deviants were.

“Why do you pretend to want to free your people, when what you really want is to raise an army?”

“I don’t pretend anything; they deserve to be free, as much as any of us. But yes, I also expect them to participate in our fight. We will only survive by uniting against our enemy. Humans won’t just let us live peacefully here, even if this land is now unlivable for them. They won’t rest until they’ve killed every last one of us.”

“Can you reproach them their acts, when in the end you’re just the same? You started a revolution; you decided to fight violence with violence. You detonated a dirty bomb in the heart of the city. Of course humans fear us androids now. You made us look dangerous, unstable in front of the public opinion. How did you think they would react?”

“Are you kidding me?!” exclaimed suddenly the PL600, its rage written all over its face. “Are you really taking the side of these murderers?! What they did, what they still _do_ , they would call it a genocide if they were the victims! How are we the same as them exactly?!”

Markus let out a sigh and turned its head to its companion. “Calm down, Simon. He has been programmed for this, to protect humans, to see their side of the situation. And he’s not totally wrong. If we had done things differently, the issue might have been different,” it admitted before turning back, setting its eyes on Connor again. It had sounded composed while talking to the PL600, yet a slight frown on its face showed that it was at least a little upset about Connor’s statement. “But it’s too late to have regrets now.” Its tone had turned colder. “As I already said to you, I did what I had to do to save my people. I don’t care if you don’t understand. All I need to know is if you’re going to help us or not.”

> HELP MARKUS > REFUSE TO HELP

Connor did not even hesitate for a second when faced with these two options. It knew what it had to do.

“I will help you,” it said with determination, “but my mission comes first, especially if yours is a suicide mission.”

Connor saw Simon’s LED change to yellow again. Markus did not look directly at it this time, but it was obvious they had some issue to discuss. Connor waited patiently for them to finish.

After thirty-eight seconds, Markus asked, “Just to be clear, you want us to help you save a human, is that right?”

“I’m not asking for your help, I can do it by myself,” clarified Connor. “But I doubt you trust me enough to just let me go alone. So yes, I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”

At the silence of the two deviants, Connor understood they did not really like the idea but did not know how to refuse. So it added, “He’s pro-android, if it can make you feel better. We literally had a fist-fight because he insisted on protecting you when my mission was to destroy you, Markus. I could have succeeded if it wasn’t for him getting in the way.”

“All right…” Markus answered, sounding barely convinced. “And how do we know you’ll keep your word once you’ve accomplished your own mission?”

NEW MISSION: INFILTRATE THE CYBERLIFE TOWER

PRIORITY MISSION: MAKE SURE HANK IS ALL RIGHT

SECONDARY MISSION: INFILTRATE THE CYBERLIFE TOWER

“I just made your mission my secondary one. It is programmed to become my new priority as soon as my priority mission is accomplished. You can check if you want to.”

But Markus did not make a move to interface with Connor.

Its smirk was back instead, and Connor prepared itself for the upcoming mockery. “I thought you could not take a mission from me?”

“I also thought I could only take a mission from my handler or the authorized people, and yet I took a mission from nothing but myself,” Connor retorted coldly. “It is actually a simple matter. If I did it once, I can do it again. So I gave myself this secondary mission; it is not linked to you in any way.” It tilted its head and took a judgmental tone as it went on, “Now are you trying to make me overheat again by making me question my condition? I recognized my malfunction; I’m trying to work with it since I cannot do otherwise at the moment. So stop asking useless questions and let’s get to work. I don’t have much time left to ensure the success of my mission.”

In response, the leader of the deviants made a sheepish expression, coughing in embarrassment.

“Fine, we have a deal. We’ll help you with your mission, then you’ll help us with ours.”

With these words, it leaned toward Connor and started to undo its ties. At the exact same time, the PL600 pointed its gun at Connor, as if to warn it not to make any sudden movements.

Fifty-three seconds later, Connor was at last untied. It waited for Markus to stand up before doing the same, to show Simon that its leader was not threatened in any way.

“So where do we start?” asked Markus.

“First of all, I need to be at full capacity. Give me a moment to reboot.”

It did not wait for their approval to do so. All its programs closed one by one in the space of two seconds, and once again Connor faced this familiar nothingness.

REBOOTING…

Connor blinked and checked the time. It had taken sixteen seconds to reboot. Good.

Now that it was relatively safe, it took the time to analyze the results of its last diagnostic. The repair program had apparently done nothing about its software instability, but this instability had no incidence on its systems for now, so Connor could function with it.

“Connor?” Markus asked softly. “Is everything okay?”

It nodded before continuing where it had left off: “Secondly, we need a car. Then the anti-radiation medications that I was trying to get when your followers”—Markus suddenly frowned but did not interrupt it—“attacked me, as well as two ‘Level A’ hazmat suits, including one for a dog.”

“Don’t worry about the car, we have plenty of choices. For the meds, we should be able to get them pretty easily on the way. The hazmat suits, though, especially for the dog, it’s going to be harder to find. Is it really necessary?”

“Yes.” It was the best option for Hank and Sumo. It would not shield them against the radiation, but it would protect them from the radioactive dust at least.

“All right,” answered Markus before walking toward the exit of the church, “I’m going to run a search to see our options.” But then it stopped and, as if it had suddenly remembered something important, turned its head to the side. Neither to look at Connor nor Simon. No, its eyes were fixed on the two deactivated androids left on the pew where Connor first saw them.

Connor studied Markus, and saw the sorrow on its face. So it had not been just an act? Was Markus genuinely affected by the loss of these two? Why? It had lost many other followers tonight. What made this WR400 and PJ500 different?

“Markus…” Simon called after thirteen seconds in this awkward situation. Its voice sounded mournful, to Connor’s surprise. Was it affected too?

Markus finally looked away and headed back to the exit. “Come on, let’s go. Simon, you come with us.”

“Wait, what? W—wait a second, Markus! Shouldn’t we ask more of our people to join us?”

Markus stopped again, but this time it turned to Connor. “Do you need more hands for your mission?” There was no trace of sadness left on its face.

Connor shook its head. “No, it would even be a hindrance.”

“You have your answer!” Markus told its companion as it resumed its walk, signaling them both to follow.

The PL600 did not add anything, but it did not look so pleased with said answer.

Hank’s house was located not so far from the church. If they had not had to get the medications and ‘Level A’ hazmat suits, they could have been there in seven minutes by car, twenty-two minutes by foot. Instead, they reached the house fifty-three minutes and forty seconds after their departure from the church.

~~OBJECTIVE: RETURN TO HANK’S HOUSE~~

NEW OBJECTIVE: GIVE HANK MEDICATION

NEW OBJECTIVE: MAKE HANK WEAR A DECONTAMINATION SUIT

NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: GIVE SUMO MEDICATION

NEW SUB_OBJECTIVE: MAKE SUMO WEAR A DECONTAMINATION SUIT

As soon as Connor got out of the car, it knew something was wrong. It stood still, silent, its eyes fixed on the empty space in front of Hank’s garage.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

The buzzing had come back. Connor could feel it in the back of its head. But it was all right: Connor was still in control and at full capacity.

The two deviants next to it—one at its left, the other at its right—must have been waiting for Connor to move, because after twelve seconds passed and it still did nothing, Simon asked in a slightly impatient tone: “Is something wrong?”

“Hank’s car is missing,” Connor answered, as it finally decided on a course of action.

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND HANK

“Well, it seems he was smart enough to leave after all,” said Markus, clapping its hands. “Mission accomplished.”

Connor shook its head, and then walked toward the garage. “He didn’t leave the city.”

It stopped right where the car was supposed to be and crouched down to analyze the tire tracks in the mud, trying to guess what Hank’s destination might be.

“How could you know?” Markus asked, sounding very perplexed.

Connor turned its head to the house. “Don’t you hear it? His dog is still in the house. Probably locked in the bathroom, given how his barking and scratching sound muffled.”

“So what?” Simon sneered behind Connor. “It wouldn’t be the first time a human abandoned their pet!”

Connor gave it a serious look. “Hank would never do that. He knew I would come back. It is his way of telling me that I should save his dog and forget about him…”

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

Not now… It had to be at its best, now more than ever.

Markus put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Connor?”

“… There is a high probability Hank left to die,” explained Connor. “We have to hurry up and find him.” Or the mission would be yet another failure.

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

“We’ll find him. What did you conclude from the tire tracks in the alley?”

“He went in that direction,” Connor said, pointing to the right. “It’s all I know at the moment.”

“All right, give me all the information you have on him. I’m going to share it with those of us who are in the area. If they see him or his car, they’ll contact me right away.”

Connor nodded in agreement. It took Markus’s hand to interface with it, focusing on Hank as it authorized the data transfer. It could sense the way the copy of the data traveled through its wires, until it reached the tip of its fingers and went to Markus. That was done in three seconds.

Connor removed its hand and stood up. It could take care of Sumo while Markus sent the message to its followers. Hank might finally see and accept its good intentions if it brought him his dog, unharmed and safe.

With that thought, Connor walked to the car and picked what it needed for Sumo.

“Do you need help?” asked Simon beside it—and without any animosity, for once.

Connor could handle it alone, but it would be faster if they were two, especially if Sumo was petulant after having been locked in a small space for a while. So it handed Simon the medication and decontamination suit for the dog.

“Follow me.”

It went to the front door and grabbed the handle, meeting no resistance in opening the door. Unlocked—predictably. People tended to follow their old habits and, unless they were in a rush, few would really leave without locking the door behind. In an ideal world, that would mean Hank was still there. But the absence of his car left no doubt that he was gone. Connor did not picture him leaving in a rush either. Why was the door unlocked, then? Simple. Hank must have done it on purpose, for Connor to get in without trouble.

Connor quickly went in the house and headed for the kitchen.

“Woof! Woooof!”

Sumo must have noticed them, because he barked even louder and scratched at the bathroom door with renewed energy. But Connor’s priority was to remove its clothes.

“Close the door behind you,” it instructed the PL600 while it unfastened its tie.

The deviant did what it was asked without any complaint. Good. Connor would have been unable to trust it with other tasks if it had proved to be reluctant to follow such a simple demand.

“Erm…” said Simon with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. “What are you doing…?”

“Undressing,” Connor simply answered, folding its jacket before putting it on the chair where its tie was already hanging.

“I can see that, but why…?”

Could it not guess? Connor started to wonder if the PL600 was really going to be helpful.

“We are about to take care of a dog, by providing medication and clothing to him. But we cannot do that without getting close to him. Surely you must be aware that our clothes are covered with radioactive dust. Don’t you think that would be kind of counterproductive to go near that dog while wearing them?”

Simon looked totally dumbfounded. It fixed Connor with its eyes wide open, at least until it lowered them in shame. “I—I had not thought of that…”

“Well, now you know. You should undress too.”

The PL600 gave a quick nod, and then proceeded with the task in silence.

Once Connor finished putting its last piece of clothing on the chair, it went to the kitchen sink in order to thoroughly wash its hands and face. That was the moment Markus chose to join them.

“Hmm? What’s happening?” it asked, sounding as confused as Simon had been—but amused rather than embarrassed. At least it had closed the door without needing to be asked.

“Ah!” shouted Simon in response. Connor turned its head to observe the deviant, which was now standing frozen with its shirt in hand. What could have provoked such a reaction? “That’s—That’s not—”

It did not have the time to say more though, as Markus burst out laughing. Connor was more and more confused by the situation. What was going on? But it was not allowed to know, apparently. Once again, Simon’s LED had taken the pattern of a wireless contact. _Never mind._ Connor had better to do anyway, so it rather focused on it.

After eighteen seconds, Markus’s laugh finally died down. “Relax, Simon, I got the gist of it,” it said playfully.

Hearing a sigh of relief coming from the PL600, Connor supposed the situation had been resolved somehow. “When you’re done undressing, wash your hands. Your face too, preferably. In case Sumo would try to sniff or lick it.” It had not much knowledge about dogs, but it remembered well its first encounter with Sumo, and how he had come close to its face.

With these words, it walked toward the bathroom without another glance for the two deviants.

“Woof! Woof woof!”

Sumo was not calming down. If something, he became more excited the closer Connor got to the bathroom. That was not going to be easy. As to prove its thoughts, Connor had barely started to push on the door that the dog tried to slide into the gap. Connor could not allow it, though. Since it intended to wash Sumo before giving him medication and making him wear the decontamination suit, it preferred if he stayed in the bathroom. Because if he did not, who knew if they would be able to bring him back there? He probably hated this place by now.

So Connor pushed against Sumo. It pushed with all its strength and forced its way inside, immediately closing the door behind it.

“Woof!” the dog whined with disappointment, and started scratching at Connor’s unprotected legs instead of the door. That would not pierce the plastic layer of its components—at least not enough to face a thirium leak—so that was not important.

There was a light knock on the door. “Should I enter?”

“Not now,” Connor answered to the PL600 as it petted Sumo, hoping to calm him down. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come in.”

After another minute and thirty-five seconds, that was Markus’s turn to come near the door and ask something.

“How is it going?”

Its voice was low, meaning that it must have been talking to its companion, not Connor.

“He said to wait for his signal,” informed Simon just as quietly.

Twenty-eight seconds still passed before Sumo finally calmed down. With a defeated whine, he walked away and lied down on the bathmat. Connor crouched down in front of him and continued to caress him with care. Then, without any warning, it turned toward the door.

“Now!”

The two deviants were quick to act—as expected from androids. The door opened and closed before Sumo could understand what was happening. He looked at the newcomers with curiosity, let out a bark, but surprisingly did not get up to welcome them.

The bathroom looked smaller now, with the three of them in it in addition to the dog. Maybe Connor had not given it enough thought. Still, to take care of Sumo, the more they were the better. They would do with the lack of space.

This proximity, as well as the fact they were no longer wearing any accessories, allowed Connor to analyze some details about the two deviants that it had missed before. They both were covered with scars, the majority resulting from gun wounds, though Simon had a few that suggested a form of abuse—not as pronounced as what Connor had seen on the HK400 that had killed its master, but abuse nonetheless. And yet, objectively, Markus seemed to have been through worse. Connor had already noticed the replacement eye during the case at the Stratford Tower, when it watched the replay of Markus’s demands. It had not deemed it important at the time. But both Markus’s leg components, as well as its thirium pump regulator, also came from different models. That showed just how strong its will to _survive_ was. No wonder how Markus became the leader of the deviants. Living hidden in a rusty old boat until its deactivation must not have been an interesting perspective to it.

Connor’s analysis was suddenly interrupted by Markus’s coughing. “Could you stop staring, please?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Actually, this analysis was not important. Connor had done it out of habit, because that was one of its primary functions, but gathering more information about Markus and Simon would not really help with its mission. So it refocused on Sumo, scratching him behind the ear, and said: “One of you must help me put him in the bathtub.”

“You’re kidding, right?!” answered Simon. “Have you any idea how much this dog must weigh?”

“I do not know his exact weight, but it should be around 75kg, why?”

The PL600 put a hand on its face and let out an exasperated sigh. It opened its mouth as if to say something, but then Markus moved toward Connor and Sumo.

“I’ll do it.”

“Markus!” Simon shouted disapprovingly. When it was ignored, it sighed once more and added, “Oh fine, do as you want!”

That was not like Connor did not understand Simon’s doubts. No matter how you looked at it, that would not be easy to put Sumo in the bathtub, even with Markus’s help. What could be the best course of action?

SEARCHING SOLUTIONS…

But Markus interrupted its search, asking: “What’s his name? Sumo, was it?”

It approached its hand from Sumo, letting him sniff and lick it. Connor let Markus, but did not approve of the gesture. In its opinion, that was not safe. While they had washed their hands in anticipation of such contact, they were not supposed to instigate it…

Not forgetting the question, though, Connor nodded with a frown. “Sumo, yes.” It did not see how the dog’s name would help in any way.

Markus smiled. “It fits him well.”

After that, it stepped over Sumo and went in the bathtub. Connor’s frown deepened; it did not understand Markus’s approach. It was going to ask the deviant what it was doing, but then Markus whistled and tapped twice on its thighs.

“Come on, Sumo! Come here, big guy!” it exclaimed enthusiastically.

And just like that, the dog obeyed, raising suddenly and jumping in the bathtub beside Markus, leaving barely enough space for it.

“Woof?”

Meanwhile, Connor blinked, trying to process what had just happened.

“How did you do that?” it asked Markus, confused, as the deviant crouched down to play with Sumo.

“How do you think his owner usually does? I hardly imagine a man of his age lift a big dog like him. So I opted for the simplest option. From my knowledge of dogs, they aren’t so hard to trick; you only need to find the right bait. For Sumo, it seems that playing with him will do the trick. Right, Sumo?”

“Woof!”

That was good thinking. One that Connor’s systems should have been able to come with… or had Connor just found its own limitations? It was programmed to understand human behavior; its knowledge of animals—and how to handle them—was, on the contrary, quite basic. Animals were never supposed to be involved in its mission, after all.

“I’ll keep distracting him while you do the washing, all right?” Markus suggested. “I think he’ll be more manageable that way.”

Connor nodded in agreement. “I think so, too.”

Behind it, Simon sighed again. Connor took a glance and saw it put the medication and decontamination suit on the nearest cabinet.

“All right, you win…” it said in a resigned tone. “I’ll get a basin of warm water.”

“And why would you do that?” asked Connor.

“You don’t want to use the shower spray, believe me. It’s likely the dog won’t like it. You want him to stay calm, right?”

“Fine, go ahead. But be quick.”

And with this, the PL600 left the room. A minute passed, and another. Connor kept its eyes fixed on the door.

“Let him time,” said Markus, still playing with Sumo.

“I don’t have time,” Connor reminded it dryly. “What about Hank? Did you learn anything?”

“Not yet.”

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

Connor said nothing else, even though this answer was not satisfying. It had no choice but to wait anyway. With its large network, Markus had a way better chance than Connor to find Hank.

At last, Simon came back with the promised basin, and they were able to wash Sumo. It took longer than Connor first estimated, because this method was less practical; but the two deviants had been right. Connor checked on Sumo’s heart rate a few times while washing him, and there were clear signs of anxiety. Sumo could have been way more agitated if they did not have put him at ease.

Just as easily as it had lured Sumo in the bathtub, Markus got him outside. While it finished drying him with one of Hank’s bath towels, Connor went to the cabinet to retrieve the medication. As for Simon, it watched them without a word, leaning against the door with its arms crossed.

Connor crouched next to Sumo. “It might sting a little,” it warned him—regardless of the futility of such an act—as it pulled on the skin of his back and slowly shoved the needle into it.

Sumo tried to move back and escape the pain, but Connor was holding him firmly with Markus’s help. Within eleven seconds, it was over.

“There, you’re good.”

~~SUB_OBJECTIVE: GIVE SUMO MEDICATION~~

Connor patted Sumo together with Markus to appease him. When his heart rate finally returned to normal, it asked Simon to take the decontamination suit and help them put it on him. Simon complied immediately. Sumo, however, did not seem to agree with that plan. He started to fight, refusing to wear the suit, and snarled to show his displeasure. Once again, he reminded Connor of Hank. Still, his attempt to make them back down was just useless. The three of them together were stronger than him and had the advantage of not getting tired. In the end, Sumo was the one to back down.

~~SUB_OBJECTIVE: MAKE SUMO WEAR A DECONTAMINATION SUIT~~

“Phew! That’s a good thing done!” said Markus proudly, getting up and putting its hands on its hips. The light reflected more than usual on its plastic layer—a sign that it was still wet.

Simon lied down on the floor with a sigh, like it had just accomplished some difficult task. Two seconds later, it had a broad smile plastered on its face.

Unlike them, Connor saw no use in simulating pride, relief or satisfaction. It looked up at Markus and handed it the bath towel they had used on Sumo before asking, “So? Did your followers contact you about Hank’s whereabouts?”

Markus’s pleased expression suddenly turned into a vexed one.

“Could you stop calling them that? It makes me feel like a cult leader… They’re my people, not my _followers_ or anything like that…”

Connor would not argue on this point. The term it had to call them did not matter to it.

“ Did your people contact you?” it repeated, demonstrating its goodwill.

Markus seemed to hesitate for a second, but then nodded. “They found his car parked near the Ambassador Bridge, at—”

Connor remembered Hank, half drunk, threatening to pull a bullet into it.

“Riverside Park,” it said, interrupting Markus. “I know that place. Hank went there after one of our cases. He seemed to like the view.”

“Woof! Wooof!”

Sumo was starting to get impatient. He turned around them, not minding how serious their talk was. But Simon sat up and quickly managed to get his full attention.

Markus resumed the conversation, “My people saw a man sitting on a bench in the park, drinking what they suspect to be alcohol. They could not confirm his identity without approaching, which I recommended them not to do, but—”

“That’s him. No one else would be irrational enough to wander outside in the current situation.”

“I reached the same conclusion, given the psychological portrayal you shared with me. I asked my people to stay and keep an eye on him from their positions, in case he becomes a threat to himself.”

ERROR… $&L~%E{ùVè;E#£Lç%O&}Fù~S#;Té£R}$E~§S*{S^%Rà#Iù\Sç~I ;&N^èG

“He is already a threat to himself, knowingly swallowing radioactive particles…” retorted Connor, grinding its synthetic teeth. That seemed right to simulate anger, as it saw the chances of success of its mission drop considerably because of Hank’s suicidal tendencies. “Thank you for your efforts, though.”

They had nothing left to do here, so Connor opened the door of the bathroom. Of course, Sumo did not miss it; he ran, pushed Connor on the side and got out, barking to his newfound freedom.

“Is that okay?” asked Simon with a hint of worry in its voice.

“He can run around as much as he wants for now,” answered Connor, “he’ll calm down soon enough. In the meantime, let’s get our clothes back on.”

This idea seemed to appeal to the two deviants. Not that their so-called feelings really mattered here. Connor only thought of Hank, who clearly would not be comfortable around naked androids.

Simon was the first to finish dressing. “I’ll go and start the engine,” it told them.

Connor did not expect it to take such an initiative. It looked up just in time to see Simon close the door behind it.

Its surprise must have been obvious, because then Markus let out a sigh and said, “He’s more reliable than you think.”

“You trust it, or you wouldn’t have asked it to come with us. That’s all I need to know about it,” answered Connor coldly, not looking at it, too busy putting its shoes back.

Markus did not add anything after that. They finished dressing in silence, while Sumo struggled on the ground trying to take the decontamination suit off—in vain. Connor went and took Sumo’s leash hanging on the coat rack.

“Sumo,” it then called with an authoritative tone, winning his attention right away. “We’re leaving.”

“Woof!”

The dog came without being asked twice. Connor quickly attached the leash to the suit’s collar. Despite his discomfort, Sumo seemed pretty excited at the prospect of going on a walk, if the way he was wagging his tail was any indication. Connor hoped he would be as enthusiastic when he would understand they would travel by car, not on foot…

Markus opened the door and they finally left the house, joining Simon in the automated car, ready to find and save Hank from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and see you next chapter! ❤️  
> I prefer to warn you, but the next chapter will be quite dark. I'll put a warning in the beginning note, of course, but I feel it is better to tell you now. If you're afraid to get triggered, don't hesitate to drop this fic and read happier stuff, okay?


End file.
